I take a moment to have a last drag before entering the Tower. There's something sexy about clove cigarettes, the way they burn, the smell, the taste, the black paper. Like you're sucking on pure win. They're also expensive as hell, which is why I savor my last one. One pack of cloves a month is the rule. An elbow shifts my backpack back on track before it slips off, and my eyes skip around as I flick the butt.
I'm waiting.
For the stares; the disapproving looks. At my hair, my clothes, my smoking, my littering, whatever. The flicked butt trundles across the sidewalk, still smoking; a woman skips out of the way, and gives it to me. The Look. I slowly lick my black lips at the legal aide and give her the Fuck Me eyes. I laugh as she jumps and turns away.
Mensch. Dear god, what comedy.
My face settles back into a blank, emotionless mask, and I head up to Wallis' office.